Missing You
by I.M. Elizabeth
Summary: Mello returns home from a week long trip in Russia.  Mello/OC  *lemon*


_A/N: I know, I know. I write a lot of lemons. I'm probably starting to look like some sort of pervert now ._. Anyway, wanted to try something a little different than I usually do but I hope you enjoy it anyway. I really liked the playful banter between Mello and Layla._

**Missing You**

_**Disclaimer: **__I do not own Death Note or any of its respective characters and situations. However I do own Layla Levandi. Please do not use her without my permission._

He has missed her, and that much is achingly certain. Like everything he does, the trip to Russia had been spontaneous when he realized that his mother's thirty-ninth birthday was in a week. He hadn't been to see her grave since he was eight, and when he realized that the strong sense of shame his father instilled in him came rising up in his chest.

For once, Layla hadn't bothered him about it. He told her very little about his parents, preferring to think of himself as a Lost Boy, one who was born without parents. She must have sensed something else though, perhaps sadness or a desperate kind of need because for once she didn't pester him about wanting to go alone. She just wrapped the scarf around his neck a little tighter when he was about to step out the door, kissing his cheek quietly. He pretended to brush off the kiss, to not care about it but she knew he would have been offended if she hadn't kissed him.

The week in Russia hadn't been very eventful, cold as fuck, but uneventful. He spent most of his time bundled in a blanket in the hotel freezing his ass off. The Los Angeles weather was nothing like the icy coldness of Russia. He hadn't remembered it being so damn cold, and he soothed himself by stalking Kira, and drinking brandy mixed with coffee.

The brandy and coffee however usually lulled him to sleep pretty quickly but more than once he awoke with a pillow clasped against his chest. And that was when it hit him, he missed Layla.

He hadn't counted on that, missing her. He'd thought the trip would allow him some freedom from her nagging and constant pestering, but now that she wasn't here to nag and pester he missed it. More often than not he awoke in the night, wanting her. He'd half considered calling her, almost did it once, had the phone in his hand before losing his nerve and putting the phone back in his pocket.

By the end of the week and the day of his mother's birthday he went to place red lilies on her grave and on his father's as well, trying to be quiet, and feel a little somber. But it had been hard to ignore the cold and he had only stayed for thirty minutes, whispering a quiet prayer, his father's rosary pressed hard against his lips.

And now he sits on a plane, staring out into the black night sky and watching the edge of the plane's wings flicker in the lights. He misses Layla, and that much is achingly certain. He'd never actually spent this long away from her. An entire week, a week is a long time for them both, too long.

Mello wonders what she's doing right now, thinking about him maybe. Matt always said she was constantly thinking of him, talking about him, and he wonders if it's true. He's not the easiest person to get along with and he ponders exactly why she loves him the way she does. He does that a lot, pondering their relationship and his feelings towards her.

They fluctuate often, shifting between the desire to keep her with him, make her smile, provide for her, and yet there are times when he fantasizes about being with someone else, someone stronger than her, someone pretty and blonde like his mother had been. He'd done it once, gone to a bar and watched women pass him, thinking about what it would be like to have them as his own.

But those feelings never lasted more than five minutes. He'd begin to see the flaws in their faces and bodies. One woman with a cluster of freckles on her shoulder, where Layla had her birthmark. Another with the perfect body, but Mello noted with distaste the way her hair was not as well kept as Layla's. All were too tall, too thin, too bold.

He realizes vaguely when he presses his forehead against the plane's window that they are decent together. Layla is as dark as he is fair, gentle when he is rough, as unaware as he is brilliant, and it works well. And in their anger they are perfectly matched.

When he finally lands on the solid Los Angeles ground he cannot help but feel the slightest bit of joy at the prospect of going where he now considers home. He waits outside impatiently, suitcase in hand, sunglasses on even though it is dark. A black Audi pulls directly in front of him a few moments later and he sits inside while a mafia member who's name Mello can't remember gives him a slight nod.

"Have a nice trip boss?" he asks, and Mello doesn't really think he gives a shit but he's just asking because he's terrified Mello will shoot him if he isn't polite.

He grunts in reply, not in the mood to talk and the man drives him silently home.

Mello stares out the window and wonders again what Layla is doing now. A quick glance at the clock embedded in the dashboard tells him it's eleven at night and he imagines her sleeping, curled against a pillow on the bed.

Has she missed him at all? What will she do when he greets her in the bed? Throw her arms around him? Kiss him everywhere? The delicious thought of her lips everywhere on him sent chills down his spine, he hasn't felt her bare skin in a week, and he wants her so.

When they pull in front of the apartments Mello has to stop himself from running outside and get out of the car calmly and collected. He nods a thanks to the driver and walks cooly to their apartment, key in hand.

Upon unlocking the door he discovers their home is strangely quiet, and glancing over he is faintly surprised to see Layla curled asleep on the couch. Wordlessly, he walks into the bedroom. It looks the exact same as Mello had left it seven days ago. He unpacks his clothes, hanging them neatly in the closet. He can't help but finger her belongings too, the range of fabrics in various shades of grey and black.

He makes himself a drink, then goes to sit on the edge of the couch. He watches her sleep for several minutes, her hair fluttering in front of her face with every breath. He pulls off his leather gloves so he can touch her, barely stroking her skin with the tips of his fingers. She mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like his name and snuggles her face against her forearm.

Mello leans down gently, barely brushing his lips against the tender shell of her ear, "Prosnisʹ, lyubimaya. Skazhi mne privet i potseluĭ menya." he murmurs, the russian falling from his lips easily.

He concentrates on kissing her, concentrates on her taste, he is concentrating so much that he almost doesn't notice her eyes sliding open. They look fuzzy for a moment, confused, but then they brighten considerably like a child's upon finding their favorite toy.

He leans up off her and allows her into a sitting position, to rub at her eyes and brush her hair at her eyes.

"Oh, Mello!" she says, her voice still thick with sleep, "You're home."

"Ah," he says, "How I've missed your brilliance. Nothing ever gets past you."

Layla crinkles her nose a little bit, looking somewhat miffed at Mello's insult.

She leans her body away from him, "Did you miss me really? Or did you just miss insulting me every five minutes?"

Mello looks as if he is seriously pondering the question, then smirks at her in his stereotypical way, "Insulting you."

Then he leans his head upward to kiss at her chin and down her collarbone. She is holding herself stiffly and Mello can tell that she's already pissed off at him, and he's barely been home for an hour.

"Of course I missed you, idiot." he says, the sweetness of his words tasting unpleasant on his tongue. "I wouldn't have come home if I didn't."

She relaxes a little, letting her head loll back so that Mello can now have easier access to her neck. He places his fingertips on the edge of her jawline, tilting her head to the side so that he can suck on the warm skin that lays over her the thumping vein in her neck.

"I thought you might not." she says after a moment.

Slowly, Mello pulls his lips away from her, presses his forehead against her temple. "Come home?"

She nods, and Mello can feel the tightness of her throat, the hitching intake of breath.

"You're not so intolerable you know." he says softly, "Don't be so arrogant as to think I run off so easy."

Then, he resumes his kissing, letting his hand wander down to cup her breast, flicking his finger over the aroused nub through her tank top.

Layla's hand flutters over his own for a brief moment, nails scraping over his knuckles.

"Why haven't you been sleeping in the bed?" he asks, nudging her chin with his nose, trying to lighten her mood with a less serious question.

"I hate sleeping without you there." she admits.

"Such a baby. Scared of the dark?" Mello teases.

Surprisingly though, her hand goes down to caress the bulge in his pants, rubbing him with a firm experience that came from their many sexual sessions.

Then, she leans her head up to lick at the scarred side of his neck nipping playfully. "No no, I've missed touching you...like this."

Then she rubs the sensitive head of his sex through the leather firmly, and Mello's breath comes out strangled and heated.

It takes an incredible force of will for Mello not to empty himself in his pants.

It has been an entire week since they have been together intimately and Mello is overtaken by his own animalism, his own want that strangles his rationality.

"Get in the bedroom." he says throatily.

She raises an eyebrow teasingly at him and slides past him, letting the side of her hip brush against his sex.

She walks into the bedroom, teasing Mello with her body, letting her hips sway as she walks into the bedroom. He follows her, shoving off his shirt and jacket as he does so.

When they are in the bedroom, Mello shuts off the lamp that he had turned on to unpack so that the two of them are barely illuminated by the light coming from the window.

"Undress." Mello commands, watching the moon reflect off her skin, wanting to see it over her entire form.

He unzips his own pants when she takes off her tank top, kicking off his boots in the process. He hastily grabs a condom and puts it on, biting his lip at the contact of his fingers on the sensitive skin.

He's too impatient for her to shove off her own pants so once he is fully undressed he goes to push her pants off her feet which are thankfully bare. He licks his lips when her body is exposed to him, caressing the flesh of her back with light fingertips.

"Bend over and put your hands on the bed." he states, trying to ignore the delicious shudder that ripples though him.

She does as he commands, looking over at him past her shoulder and he can tell that she's questioning him with her eyes.

He leans down, placing his hands beside hers on the mattress until his chest is pressed against her back. He lifts his other hand to cup her chin in his hand, turning her head forcefully so that he can plunder her mouth with his own and she moans.

She's rubbing her damp arousal against his own now and for once, Mello obliges her, not in the mood to tease her, or tease himself any longer.

He impales himself inside her, groaning in want. He tangles his hand in her hair, pulling it back in time with his thrusting.

The slap of their skin together spurs him on and he's begging for release already, dying for it. She feels so good, achingly damp and hot, her clenching in perfect tandem with every thrust. He hooks his chin over Layla's shoulder and nips at her ear, making a sweet whimper fall from her lips.

Her hands grip his wrists on the bed and he knows he'll have marks from her nails on them by the next morning. She's meeting his thrusts now, leaning back every time he moves forward. She's leaning lower on the bed as well, to shove her hips higher into the air with a sort of frantic need.

He groans and slips his hands away from her vice grip moving down to pick up her hips until the tips of her toes are scant centimeters away from the floor.

The added sensation and new angle are making her writhe on the bed sheets, practically crying his name, begging him for the release that is so close for them both.

Mello slams into her repeatedly, gripping her hips so tightly that he wouldn't be surprised if his fucking fingerprints are permanently imprinted on her skin. She begins to clench around him, her entire body spasming, hips moving sporadically. Her dampness spills down their thighs as Mello continues to drive into her, making her twitch from the sensations.

The arching of his back, and tightening of his hips makes a smaller orgasm thunder through her and she sobs out his name, arching her back as a string of swears fall from his lips as his seed falls into the condom.

Neither of them can move now, the thin sheen of sweat covering their skin as Mello leans down to press his forehead gingerly in between her shoulder blades.

Layla's legs wobble and Mello forces himself to pull away and help her crawl on the bed where she drops, her cheek against the silk blanket.

Mello crawls over her, arms trembling with fatigue, planting a kiss on her shoulder as he eases himself on top of her. She intertwines her fingers in his and as he drifts off to sleep he cannot help but think that he's happy to be home again.


End file.
